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creative nonfiction

It’s my birthday, but the clouds are offended again because of something I’ve said or thought. Their bellies are full of dark-sick, gauzy vomit, pushing away the sky which doesn’t remember I’m nine today. People are talking about the moon, how there are men on it for the first time, but people have told me […]

I’m an old man now, but I was a boy once, and I saw things—adults with backward rollercoaster eyes, muddy backhoe faces, steel wool fingers, javelin forearms that could tack anything they wanted to a wall, a floorboard, a bed board, or a rusty bedspring creaking for rescue. I was a glass boy then, blown […]

Out the window spreads the neighborhood where Behemoth wandered. From this vantage point above I witness nightfall across Patriarch Ponds. Sunlight is gradually replaced by the street lamps, twinkling candles on cafe verandas, and the dim glow of cigarettes. This cozy neighborhood is as much Russian as it is European, if not for the Cyrillic signage […]

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Me: Let’s talk about how it all started. Myself: How what started? And I: Ha! The pickpocketing. Me: Yes, can we talk through that? Myself: Yeah, that’s fine I guess. I don’t get how it’s all that fascinating, or worth its own essay, but we can. And I: It’s cause you were poor, just admit […]